


Drunken Confessions (Or Maybe Not)

by gamesgeary_18



Category: Black Lagoon
Genre: Drunken Confessions, F/M, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-15
Updated: 2016-11-15
Packaged: 2018-08-31 04:24:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8563963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gamesgeary_18/pseuds/gamesgeary_18
Summary: He's the runt of the crew and she's the heavy and since this isn't one of those romances where the average guy gets the awesome magical girl (and a harem, but that's not the point) he doesn't want to get his hopes up.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Don't own anyone but the hooker who in my head was a totally adorable girl.

It occurred to him several times a day that none of them was going to make it past forty. Well except for Dutch who was maybe, probably _(?)_ already forty. He guessed Benny was in his late twenties and Revy- well he hoped she was younger than him. Drinking, smoking, shooting, dodging bullets and the like tended to shorten the lifespan considerably. And occasionally he wondered if he should tell her right then and avoid some tragic confession at his deathbed. Or hers.

Stereotypical as it may be Rock was big on manga. He was also big on baseball and duck hunt but that had nothing to do with the current train of thought and Rock preferred to keep his thoughts linear. Especially when he was way past drunk. Then again he was…what? No.

That's not what this was about.

Oh yes. Manga. As a kid he'd been big on manga. He'd read the shonen shit with the hero evolving like a screeching Pokémon or saving the damsel in distress with his energy beam swords. He also read the high-school romances. A bit of a guilty pleasure and he did it only to satisfy his inner romantic. His unfortunate hairstyle usually sent girls running for the door. Now the heroes in those shit stories had it made, they'd get maybe a handful of awkward situations with their love interests and then BAM, love confession on the school roof top. Or the rain. Sometimes both. Oh how he envied them.

"-getting warm." Rock blinks at the gravelly voice and turns to look at her. She's got this scowl on her face that's something of a cross between annoyed and concerned. She's mastered it like an art form.

"I said your rums getting warm, Rock."

So he brings the glass to his lips and in some kind of defiance tries to gulp down the whole thing. A hand smacks against his back, he feels his bones rattle and his spine arches. The alcohol isn't all the way down his throat and he gasps involuntarily dragging the burn down his windpipe and a spray out his nose. He's coughing now and she's laughing. He glares at her through his tears and she's slapping the table while cackling like a hyena. He can't quite decide if he wants to kiss her or smash a bottle over her head.

He doesn't know why he likes her. She's the crazy chick with a bad attitude, gulping down booze like a thirsty fish. She isn't the girl you take home to your parents or the one you take to movies. Aesthetically she's not someone who would make a good pair with him. He's the runt of the crew and she's the heavy and since this isn't one of those romances where the average guy gets the awesome magical girl _(and a harem, but that's not the point)_ he doesn't want to get his hopes up. But he still finds his heart beating faster whenever her voice drops mid speech, unwittingly seductive. He still let's his eyes trace the supple lines of her neck every time she moves. And now he is a creep.

In his defense she has a very good neck.

He still can't stop fan boying over her crazy gymnastics; magically deflecting the hail of bullets coming at her with her sheer awesomeness. She is an uncouth, over-confident, obnoxious brat and someday when the magic wears off she'll catch a bullet right in her alcohol sozzled brain.

The realization had hit him like a freight train the first time he thought about it. Now it's an hourly occurrence that only fuels his need to tell her. Sometimes he wonders how. He could wait till one fine day one of them is dying from a stray bullet and the other is holding them in their arms and it's all terribly romantic and tragic. She'd probably smack him one last time for being a corny idiot. Or he could say it now. What was the worst that would happen? Oh right. She'd shoot him in the knee.

He knows she wouldn't kill him.

"Revy…" he speaks with resolve. It is now or…well sometime soon enough. She gives an acknowledging tilt of her head. Her gaze focused on the amber liquid. So much like her eyes; such beautiful eyes.

Focus.

"There's something I wanted to tell you."

She seems curious for a split second but then someone bumps into him and he's left gathering his thoughts because his brain is sloshing around in his skull. Rock, the bump-ee, glares at the bump-er; a rather attractive bleached blonde leaning over the bar and talking to Revy with brows knitted together and an easy smile. She's flashing an awful lot of cleavage which Rock knows is real. Roanapur is filled with surprisingly large chested women. It almost seems like a warning. So much that he's begun to associate breasts with danger. Except Sawyer. That's an odd line of thought, Rock blinks it away.

He turns to Revy and the blonde. The girl is tittering shyly and Revy has this oddly genuine grin _(something he'd thought was reserved for him and suddenly he's pissed because God damn it he can't compete with a girl!)_ as she reassures her about something. Then the girl is bouncing away with a wave. Revy finishes her drink and hops off the bar stool.

"Hey Rock! Pay the man, will ya." And she's gone and he's left paying Bao and muttering about thankless women. When he heads out she's right there waiting in the car. She tells him to move his ass and he does. The ride back to the office will most likely be spent sleeping.

Despite his annoyance beforehand Rock knows the blonde is no threat to his eternally unrequited affection for the Madwoman. Revy knows all the sex workers by name; Hookers, strippers, pimps, you name it. She tends to be surprisingly civil with the girls, going as far as threatening to kneecap or castrate clients who got too pushy. If Rock didn't know any better he'd say she had a soft spot for the girls. The girls themselves weren't afraid of the red-haired psychotic demonic entity he called his partner. Their carefree attitude and genuine affection for the redhead was unusual and maybe even a bit cute. Even Balalaika was vary of her.

He gathers his words carefully.

"What did Rose want?" his words are a little slurred. His head lolling slightly as he looks at her with glassy gray eyes.

"Rosy." She corrects absently, looking to the left as she drives past an intersection.

"Hmm?"

She shrugs and then mutters something about assholes who can't keep their hands to themselves and Rock wonders if she is talking about him. Because he does want to reach over and touch that soft red hair. It's rather surprising how pretty she is given she has a lifestyle wholly dependent on energy drinks, booze, smoke and stale pizza. He wonders absently if she is girly enough to pull off the short skirt and blazer combo.

His brain short-circuits. And suddenly Revy is sitting there in the red skirt she wore in Japan and a white collar shirt and blazer with an adorable red bow tie. He frowns at his thoughts. Since when did he start living up to the 'creepy old Japanese man with a schoolgirl fetish' stereotype? She keeps babbling, her focus on the road and he has the comfort of knowing he hasn't said any of that out loud. But seriously.

What. The. Fuck?

**SMACK!**

_-silence-_

"Did you just fucking slap yourself?"

Rock doesn't answer because he passes out.

* * *

When he finally does confess to her that night she is stumbling up the stairs with him. An arm wrapped around his midsection she laughs at his pussy-ness and low tolerance. He doesn't have a low tolerance, he argues but all that comes out is garbled nonsense. Revy kicks open the door to his room and dumps him unceremoniously on the bed. Her gaze settles on the monstrosity of a shirt pinned to the wall and she sniffs at the indignity.

_"It's not a god damned wall hanging, Fuck Face!" she had said once._

"Revy?" he slurs and she stops at the door.

"Yeah?"

Tomorrow some thug will be lying face down in the gutter full of 9mm's for hitting a blonde hooker. Tomorrow there'll be a job that'll have them dodging bullets again. Tomorrow there might not be a tomorrow.

He's looking at her now, his vision is darkening and she's just a silhouette against the glare of the lit hallway. Just a presence watching over him.

"I love you."

"You'll need to speak up Rock." She is leaning up against the doorframe now but he's too tired and far too drunk. "I can't hear you."

"Nah, never mind."


End file.
